Dance With Me
by E Salvatore
Summary: Olivia likes to dance. And so they dance. A little P/O piece brought to you by a hopeless romantic who believes that Peter would do anything for his Olivia. Round Four of my SWB Initiative.


**DANCE WITH ME**

**Olivia likes to dance. And so they dance. A little P/O piece brought to you by a hopeless romantic who believes that Peter would do anything for his Olivia. Round Four of my SWB Initiative.**

* * *

Olivia likes to dance.

It's something he's always known, a part of Olivia that he's come to love just like all the other parts of her. And though Peter himself isn't all that fond of dancing, they dance. Because dancing with Olivia? It's not just dancing. It's something he does with Olivia, the woman he loves more than anything else in all the universes.

They dance in the kitchen when she's chopping things up and he's turning around to get something and they bump into each other; when he takes hold of her hand and spins her around.

They dance in front of the fireplace when it's cold and dark and she's feeling down; when he pulls her to her feet and rests his hands on her waist and holds her close.

They dance in the rain sometimes.

It's nice.

It's _them_.

* * *

It's nine in the morning and there's no sign of impending doom, so they're just staying in bed, drawing beautiful images of the future – _their _future together.

He draws lazy loops and circles on her hip with her back pressed against him. She's wearing a small smile, comfortable in his arms.

She used to be ticklish.

But over time, his hands on her waist has turned into something _right_ – something that she relishes in, without dreading the familiar sensation of hands on over-sensitive skin. She likes the way he holds her close when they dance.

"My parents used to dance."

His hands still momentarily before resuming his light tracing on her skin. This is what she needs: him listening without making a big deal out of the fact that she's willing to share. She smiles in appreciation and brings one hand to rest on top of his, and he laces their fingers together, a privilege afforded to them only when they are alone and free to show affection without being judged by the clueless outside world for having known each other for no more than a few months.

"It's one of the few memories I have of them. I couldn't have been more than two – maybe younger. But it's the first memory I have: my parents dancing, anytime, anywhere. They would smile and laugh and my mom would rest her head against my father's shoulder and he would pull her closer while I watched silently. Sometimes, when he dipped her, I'd laugh."

"It was perfect."

"And then…"

He waits for the longest minute. And when she doesn't start talking, he gently prods her to turn around so that he can kiss her and let her rest _her _head against his shoulder.

She'll tell him the rest some other day.

* * *

She comes home to the smell of a home-cooked meal – an old recipe of Elizabeth's, no doubt. Peter's been a little nostalgic these past few days with his mother's birthday coming up. It's the only reason why she's keeping her frustration bottled up instead of taking the usual route of slamming the door.

She shucks off her coat, kicks off her shoes and drops her things on the couch, then follows her nose to the kitchen where Peter's waiting, probably having heard the door close behind her.

"Hi." She smiles as the lingering effects of her bad day melt away. Just seeing Peter perfectly comfortable in her home – _their _home – and walking in on this domestic scene… it's everything she's ever wanted.

"Hi." He says with a small laugh, holding his arms open for her as she walks into them. She lets out a contented sigh when he wraps his arms around her – when she's finally home. They stay that way for the longest time until the song that's playing ends.

When the next one comes on, Peter starts swaying them gently to the jazz tune that's playing. She smiles into his neck, ducking her head. He presses kisses into her hair and keeps her close because it's been a bad day and he can tell.

One song is all they get before the timer goes off and it's back to dinner preparations, but it's enough for Olivia. Just knowing that he could tell, that he took the time to hold her close and dance with her despite everything… it's enough.

It's perfect.

* * *

"After my dad passed… I don't think my mom ever danced again."

The movie's over and so is their night, but in between the covers, as they settle into their usual position, he waits patiently for the rest of her story.

"But I did. I danced in kindergarten, and I danced in Jacksonville, and I danced in my room when _he _would hit her." Peter tightens his grip on her, not enough to hurt her but just enough to remind her that she's safe now, that he's here now. And for just a moment, he's so glad – so, so glad – that they're in another timeline where the bastard is dead. And it doesn't matter that she put him through hell for months, and it doesn't matter that sometimes Walter still doesn't know him, and it doesn't matter that she's the only one he has left in the whole world. Because she's safe and that's all that matters.

"I stopped dancing after…after I shot him. But deep down, there was a part of me that could never quite forget the way my parents would dance together, how they'd be in their own little world. And I told myself… _that's what I want_." She stops for a moment; turns around and smiles. "_That's what I want someday_. And then I grew up and I realized it probably wasn't going to happen, but I don't think I ever really gave up on it. Not with the only memory of my parents together branded in my mind."

She's silent then, and he knows it's over.

"And then I came along." He speaks ever so softly into her ear, and she smiles and leans into him.

"And then you came along." She agrees.

They don't talk after that, but sleep isn't easy to find, not when the moment is so perfect, they don't want it to end. He holds her, and she lets him and somewhere in between sensing each other's every move and falling asleep, she finds the time to tell him what she's been wanting to say.

"Peter?"

"Hmm?"

She twists around and gives him the lightest of kisses.

"Thank you for dancing with me."

* * *

**Well, that was odd.**

**I came up with the idea a few weeks ago when I was idly thinking about Olivia's fondness of dancing and the way Peter would give in to her. And then it just got me thinking: why would Olivia like dancing? But writer's block and absent bunnies conspired to keep me from answering that question.**

**And then this happened. It's not exactly what I was going for – something with a little whimsical vibe to it about a girl who grew up with only one happy memory of her parents and then finds herself recreating that memory with the love of her life – but I think this is a little bit more in-character and believable. I think.**

**As usual, reviews are so very, very welcomed and appreciated. And did I mention virtual cookies for all? Yeah, virtual cookies for all who review. (This counts as bribery, doesn't it?) Thank you all for reading and if you enjoyed this (I hope you did!), don't forget to keep your eyes open for the rest of the SWBI pieces coming your way soon and check out the one before this, **_**Horrendous Events**_**. I can personally guarantee you that it has a semi-happy ending.**

**For more information on the SWBI, don't forget to scroll down to the end.**

_**E Salvatore,**_

_**May 2012.**_

* * *

**The Screw Writer's Block Initiative (SWB Initiative) is open to everyone – and I mean everyone – who's ever won against writer's block. And if you're battling it right now…well, you've got perfect timing! Focus on a small plot bunny that just won't leave you alone and write a one-shot of your choice. Be sure to mention the Initiative or SWB Initiative. Come on, let's kick writer's block's a$$!**


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